


a certain shade of blue

by bottleredhead



Series: that time a tumblr user/anon prompted me [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras ends up more horny than flustered but oh well, Enjolras has a thing for Grantaire's new suit, Frottage, Jen made me do it, M/M, Surprise Kissing, cute boys in suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottleredhead/pseuds/bottleredhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://tiny-tveit.tumblr.com">Jen</a> prompted: What if they go suit shopping? And R’s never really bought one and has no idea how they fit and E has to help him and gets flustered by how AMAZING he actually looks in a suit, and… :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	a certain shade of blue

**Author's Note:**

> ...Why do I have the feeling that I'll be tagging many fic to come with 'Jen made me do it'?

“But why are you the one to take me suit shopping, again?” Grantaire asks in a petulant tone as Enjolras leads him into the store. The saleslady smiles at Enjolras, before eyeing Grantaire critically.

Enjolras, having already answered this question the other four times it was asked, sighs in exasperation. “Because Cosette threatened you with bodily harm if you came to her wedding in jeans, Combeferre is busy and Courfeyrac will probably encourage you to buy a magenta suit. So, being the only one both available and responsible enough, I’ve been saddled with suit shopping duty.” He turns to the saleslady then, fixing on his most charming smile. “Hello. My friend here needs to buy a suit – he’s the bride’s best man, so we need him to look sharp.”

Enjolras ignores Grantaire’s huff of indignation and quietly muttered “I’m still here.” Combeferre had coerced him into accompanying Grantaire to buy a suit – Grantaire’s sullenness is already wearing his nerves thin.

The saleslady, whose name tag reads Clarisse, nods sympathetically at Enjolras before schooling her face back into a mask of smooth professionalism. “Well, here at Bergdorf Goodman we have suits for every occasion. Has the bride chosen a specific colour for the best man’s suit? Has Mr.-“ “Grantaire.” “-been measured for a suit before?”

Enjolras answers both questions with a resounding negative, only now realising that this excursion would pass by much faster had Cosette chosen a suit colour for Grantaire. It’s not like Enjolras cares about fashion and the such, but Cosette had threatened him with castration if he made her best man clash with the bridesmaids.

Undeterred by their unenthusiastic and unwitting responses, Clarisse ushers them into the changing rooms, motioning for Enjolras to sit on a plush couch in the seating area as she lifts the measuring tape from around her neck. She sheds Grantaire of his shirt and jeans with efficiency, leaving him in his tricolor boxers (and Enjolras has to bite his lip to keep from laughing) as she measures along Grantaire’s shoulders and legs.

Grantaire, noticing the faint snickers coming from Enjolras, turns around to glare at him. “They were a gag gift from Eponine,” he explains.

But Enjolras isn’t listening to him, because when faced with the tantalizing view of Grantaire’s naked, muscled torso, Enjolras is understandably distracted. He knows, of course, that Grantaire is fit – albeit abstractly. However, knowing something in a conceptual way is different than seeing with his own eyes. He swallows at the sight of the trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of Grantaire’s boxers, has to fight down the urge to lick after it and see where it leads.

Thankfully, Grantaire doesn’t seem to notice his ogling. He stands rigid as the measuring tape wraps around and across him, Clarisse writing down his measurements in a small notepad with a nod of her head.

“Just a moment, gentlemen,” she murmurs. She disappears into the racks and racks of suits, emerging a few minutes later with an armful suits. Enjolras pointedly does not stare at Grantaire’s muscular legs and bulging biceps.

While Grantaire tries on the suits in a cubicle, Enjolras messes with his phone. The sight of Grantaire’s body is still swimming beneath his lids. Those hours of ballet and boxing and running have definitely paid off, and idly, Enjolras wonders how many people got to touch Grantaire like he wants to right now and – he cuts off that thought with a scowl at the closed changing room door, as though that will help rid him of the ridiculous idea. He’s not normally one for losing his head over boys, which is something Courfeyrac is wont to do, and he’s not about to start now.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Grantaire emerges from the changing room, followed by a satisfied-looking Clarisse. And Enjolras…

…Enjolras has to raise his hand to his jaw to make sure that he isn’t gaping, because fuck. Grantaire is looking resplendent in a suit the colour of midnight blue, so dark that it seems to be black. It matches Grantaire’s wild hair and emphasises the sapphire-blue of his eyes, making his fair skin glow instead of looking pallid. Grantaire’s shoulders are a broad line in the suit jacket, which sticks to his sides and tapers in narrowly at the waist, accentuating his striking figure. The trousers’ fabric clings to his thighs provocatively, his legs seeming to go on for miles. When he moves, Enjolras catches a hint of calf muscles that he knows to be there.

Enjolras wants to devour him.

Aware that he is staring, Enjolras can feel his cheeks redden. Clarisse’s satisfied expression deepens almost to the point of smug pride. Grantaire, however, seems to be oblivious to the urge running through Enjolras. He runs a hand through his dark curls, self-conscious, as his other hand tugs at the collar of the crisp white shirt he has underneath the suit.

“So?” Grantaire asks. His voice holds an uncharacteristic nervousness, and Enjolras wonders if Grantaire really has no idea how fucking good he looks.

Instead of answering, Enjolras stands up. He slowly circles around Grantaire, inspecting him from top to bottom from each possible angle and thoroughly enjoying the flush rising on Grantaire’s cheeks. He clears his throat. “You cut a very impressive figure,” he declares, and Grantaire’s blush deepens. “Midnight blue is definitely your colour – you should wear it more often.”

At that point, Clarisse returns (when did she leave?) with a thin, silver tie. She has it wrapped around Grantaire’s neck and tucked inside the jacket in one fluid movement. With a flourish, she pins a black tie clip to the silver fabric, moving backwards to admire her handiwork.

Enjolras turns towards her with a decisive nod. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?”

She smiles knowingly at him. “Of course. I will be at the counter, should you need any further assistance.”

Grantaire fiddles with the knot of his tie as she disappears, obviously uncomfortable underneath Enjolras’ piercing gaze. “What? Does the tie not match? I mean, I don’t think it looks half bad but then again I never bought a suit before-”

Enjolras cuts off the anxious rambling by placing his hand in the center of Grantaire’s chest. “Stop. Talking. You’ll ruin the moment.”

Grantaire’s halfway through asking “What moment?” when Enjolras fists his hand around Grantaire’s tie and pulls, crashing their lips together.

For a heartbeat, they’re merely pressing their lips together. Then Grantaire opens his mouth, granting Enjolras access to lick and bite his way into that red mouth. His other hand rises to grip a fistful of gleaming blue-black curls, and is awarded with a quiet moan when he tugs. Grantaire retaliates by burying his own hands in the golden hair at the base of Enjolras’ skull. It’s the filthiest kiss Enjolras has ever had.

Their tongues war for dominance, slick and hot against each other as Enjolras relishes the burning need for oxygen in his chest that matches the fire licking its way from his lips down to his groin. A guttural groan rips itself from his throat when Grantaire cants his hips forwards, rubbing their hardening erections against each other. White-hot lights spark behind his eyelids at the friction, which is not enough, not nearly enough yet still driving him mad with each little surge of pleasure.

Grantaire, emboldened by Enjolras’ reaction, presses them flush against each other, grinding his hips harder into Enjolras. Enjolras thinks he might just explode.

They pull away with a wet sound that makes Enjolras blush at how obscene it is, despite the fact that they’ve basically been humping each other in semi-public. If Courfeyrac caught wind of this, he’d never let Enjolras live it down, especially after how many times he’s given the mischievous man the no-PDA-allowed talk.

“Stop. Thinking,” parallels Grantaire with a smirk that’s more ecstatic than teasing. “You’ll ruin the moment.”

The end up kissing again until Clarisse discreetly clears her throat at them.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a total rush job and isn't beta-ed, so there are probably lots of mistakes. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this and thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are very welcome :)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://enjolraspermitsit.tumblr.com)!


End file.
